In the darkest of places,
underneath the burden of the world there rests a man.
A man whose face tells a story, covered in lines thick from the sun.
His eyes heavy, staring out into forever... Waiting.
How many sunsets, how many starry nights?
This man was there at the beginning, and he will be there for the end.
From his hands he molded the greatest of mountain heights.
And tore them down just the same.
He planted every seed, that held the earth together,
with roots like the deepest veins.
On his breath great men, discovered great places.
Under his feet, he carried the world.
A passive observer, showing infinite patience.
He shared his lessons, and although his voice echoed like the heaviest of thunder claps.
No one listened.
Great civilizations have come and gone,
Again, and again he carves another valley,
Rivers deep, and the greatest of storms.
Always watching, he has seen it all.
An endless cycle of rebirth again, and again...
Oh, how painful it must be,
to watch us fall.
again and again.
edit on PMAmerica/Chicago470812pm by Aeshma because: (no reason given)